


Moments

by intotheruins



Category: Farscape
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Episode: s01e20 Hidden Memory, M/M, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:52:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment between Crichton and Stark before Crichton is taken back to the Chair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have recently become completely obsessed with this show, and it was nice to write something other than Supernatural for a change. Not that I'm leaving the Supernatural fandom, I'm kind of screwed for life there, but yeah. Breaks are good. 
> 
> This is set sometime after Stark gives Crichton the memory to help calm him down.

The stone wall of the cell was freezing, ice seeping through Crichton’s clothes and skin, right down to his bones. Didn’t even have the decency to numb him. He could still _feel_ everything, too much all at once; needles stabbing into his fingertips, fire in his lungs, his heart beating in his throat — or maybe it was in his gut, or his damn _mivonks_ , and just when did he start talking like them?

Fuck fuck _frell,_ meant the same damn thing but it wasn't his.

He'd really like to stop twitching now.

Something shifted beside him. Crichton flinched, hunched down in preparation for pain before he remembered it was just Stark. Crazy bastard. Crichton giggled, breathless little hitches that were too easy to choke on — his body seized as he coughed up his own desperate mirth.

A careful press to his shoulder made his head loll to the side. Useless neck.

Stark was watching him. His expression had gentled in the last few arns, his touch soft as he rubbed slow circles into Crichton's shoulder. Crichton couldn't stand how much he craved it.

“It's all right,” Stark murmured. His voice was as soft as his touch when he was calm.

Crichton's breath hitched again, catching on a mangled cry. He let himself slide down the wall, dipped his head to bring himself just a little closer to the comfort. His body _ached,_ no rest from the twitch twitch TWITCH from the chair, every muscle seizing and locking and shaking as it tried to settle.

Another sob clawed out of his throat. He tried to catch it behind his teeth, gnashed at it, but it slipped through all the little gaps and spilled out into the world.

Stark bent one leg at the knee so he could pull the other man down into the cradle of it. Crichton buried his face in reeking old cloth and warm thigh.

“I might love you a little right now.” Even his voice shook, quiet tremors breaking his tone and making him gasp.

“That's good.” Stark stroked a hand over Crichton's hair, pressing his palm gently against his neck and kneading. “Hold on to that.”

Crichton clutched clumsily at Stark's leg. Didn't even bother trying not to cry.

“Shhh.” Stark shifted. Lips brushed feather-light against Crichton's temple. Warmth spilled over his neck and cheek — it took him a moment to realize Stark had removed his mask.

He let himself be turned onto his back, head cradled in Stark's cupped hand.

“Shouldn't bother,” Crichton choked out, even as he tipped his face into the soft, gold light. “Scorpy's gonna take me on another date any minute now.”

Stark brushed his knuckles over Crichton's cheeks, clearing a path for new tears to fall. “You'd rather I left you alone? Perhaps it's cruel of me to give you a moment's reprieve, only to have Scorpy take it away.”

“Don't go.” Crichton shifted against Stark's thigh, folding in against himself and pressing hard until he was as close to Stark as he could get. He felt like a child, terrified and just as small, clinging to anything that made it stop, even for a second.

Stark curled one steadying arm around Crichton and began petting his hair again. Swirl, stroke, press, repeat... Crichton sighed and nuzzled into Stark's throat. The shaking wasn't so bad now.

“I definitely love you a little right now,” he muttered, grinning desperate and shaky when Stark huffed amusement into his hair.

“Good.”

Stark guided Crichton's head back and pressed a kiss to his lips. The light caressed the last of the tears from his cheeks.

“Thanks,” Crichton murmured when Stark sat back. Which seemed so underwhelming a reply to the gesture that he almost started laughing. He watched Stark replace his mask one-handed.

Heavy footsteps sounded outside, **thud thud thud** , quick like his heartbeat racing with new adrenaline. The twitching returned with a vengeance. Crichton clung to Stark's filthy shirt with both hands, burying his face in the rough warmth of his throat.

The arm around him tightened. Another kiss was pressed into his hair.

“Hold onto these moments,” Stark whispered. “They'll help you survive. Don't worry if Scorpy sees them.”

_Don’t worry._

Crichton didn't worry. He didn't have _room_ to worry, not with the pain lancing back into his mind, the Chair tearing into anything it could reach.

But he clung to the moment anyway, tucked it down into some distant corner of his mind that had yet to be touched by the Chair’s web of agony. Down, down, under dust and darkness, down there with his memories of Gilina.

They were _his_ moments _._ Scorpius couldn't have them.

~

END


End file.
